Archives for May 2010

Tears fell down my face as I read that the Arizona law, SB 1070, had been signed into action by Gov. Jan Brewer on April 23, 2010.

Although this law has been passed, we cannot afford to forget about it.

SB 1070 makes it legal for Arizona law enforcement to ask anyone for their immigration papers. It also gives them power to detain someone suspected of residing in the United States illegally.

After the law was signed, the debate began. Everywhere I traveled I heard conversations about Arizona.

Many people do not understand what the law entails, only that Arizona passed legislation regarding undocumented immigrants.

What Americans don’t understand is that this law is not just about immigration. It is a mirror of the breakdown in our government toward American personal rights.

A process has begun in the opposite direction for human and civil rights. Law enforcement should not have the power to question or detain someone they see on the street based on stereotypes, looks or dress.

Can you tell the difference of someone who is here legally or illegally just by looking at them? Will their hair color, skin color or dress give them away?

One can only rationalize the kind of behavior that will flourish under these conditions.

The fundamental trust between law enforcement and community will be broken, and fear will pervade American streets.

In my opinion, equality is a myth, but I believe it is a dream we should always strive for. Our country has fought many bitter battles concerning the rights of minorities, and as we find ourselves in 2010, I can only ask why we are stepping backwards.

I strongly believe SB 1070 is a repercussion of the U.S. government refusing to deal with immigration. Laws have not been passed and guidelines certainly have not been respected.

Instead, the government has left the responsibility up to the individual states to care for their own, and Arizona feels overwhelmed.

While I can understand the circumstances for the law, I do not agree with it.

I lived in Asheville before I transferred to UNC.

Under the watch of George W. Bush, factory raids were conducted in Buncombe County. Parents, siblings and spouses were ferried off in buses and taken to the state capitol to be pushed through lines, fingerprinted and put in jail.

Relatives scrambled to gather money together to free their loved ones, while others realized this would be the last time they would see their family.

These actions are unwarranted and should not be allowed on American soil — we are better than that.

Our government needs to take action and put laws into place to protect our border-states and the rest of the United States, however we need to do it with respect and integrity.

As Americans it is our duty to wake up and participate in the changes occurring in our nation.

(An editorial column written for the Daily Tar Heel….I did not choose the title)

Today I attended and participated in a march protesting SB1070, the new law in Arizona that will make it a crime to be illegal/undocumented and will make it legal to ask a person to show proof of their citizenship based on the way they look.

This was the first protest I have ever participated in and I am proud that it was my first. As someone who strives to see both sides of any situation I can name on one hand the reasons that I would actually protest for. Arguments and debates happen every day, but this debate stirs me from the inside out.

The call for the protest came through Facebook from someone who attends Duke University. He asked that we wear our school colors and meet in the Pit at UNC.

I don’t know what I expected, but I was nervous. I found out that none of my friends would be able to attend due to finals or previous plans they could not break, so I was left to join the protesters on my own.

I arrived early and prepared. The sky looked like it would open up at any minute so I brought my umbrella and plastic bags to put my personal things inside of.

It wasn’t long after I arrived that people began showing up. UNC students wearing their prided blue and laughing loudly stood in the Pit awaiting the crowd, and it did come. Students began trickling in one-by-one and then groups from different schools began showing up. The students from N.C. State quickly outnumbered the others and red shirts were everywhere. The red seemed so appropriate that I almost wished I had worn it.

Red, the color of pain, strife and passion. Red is such a bold and powerful color and it stood out against the light and navy blues from the other colleges.

At the crowd continued growing a girl with a megaphone began getting everyone hyped up with chants like “What does Democracy look like? Democracy looks like this!” and “Shame on who? Shame on you Arizona!”

As the march began I fell into the crowd and softly began repeating the different chants. It was overwhelming for me to be with such a huge of people without knowing anyone. It is not easy for me to participate in events such as these and while a part of me just wanted to run, a greater part made me stay and march.

We marched across campus and the stares and looks from some of the students and faculty reminded me of the day laborers that stand on the corner in Carrboro, waiting to be chosen for work. Day after day they stand there and stare at the road. They wait with hope to be picked up, they pray to be asked to join a crew.

But while they wait cars drive by, parents tell their children to shield their eyes and people look away in embarrassment. And yet these men return every day….with hope.

After leaving campus grounds we headed into downtown Chapel Hill. People stared out through the windows of restaurants, boyfriends held their girlfriends tighter as we passed, and children looked completely confused. As I listened to our chants and the words we were yelling into the evening, I wondered how it is that we have gotten here – to this place in our country. Who’s fault is it? Why hasn’t immigration already been dealt with?

The protest chose it’s landing place at the courthouse in the middle of Franklin street and the speakers began. The first two speakers were both undocumented students who were sharing their stories and struggles. A girl about 22 years old said she wasn’t ashamed to say that she was undocumented anymore and the boy, still in high school, read us quotes from an Arizona representative entailing how illegals could be picked up “because they will stand out, they will look the part.” He then asked the crowd if it looked like he was wearing illegal shoes or if his clothes made him look illegal.

It is a profound thing to realize ones place in an event such as this. I could not find my voice in the chanting and I felt numb as I watched the speakers. I almost felt useless as a follower – I wanted to be a leader and I wanted to do something. But for now all I could do was be there. I was falling in and out of reality, back and forth between memories and the protest.

A third girl has just returned from a long trip to Arizona and told us what was happening there. She said that a prayer vigil had been going on since the law had passed. Families were praying from five in the morning until ten at night, taking turns, but always leaving at least one representative of their family to pray.

My mind raced and I remember walking the dusty streets in Panama. I was headed to the store for some fruit. I was starving and craving a mango. I had left the house quickly. I entered the supermercado and began hunting for my mango. At that moment I became aware of several policia standing close to where I was. They were whispering and looking at me. The second that one of the men began to walk over I realized that I had left my passport. My heart began beating so loudly I knew everyone could hear it. “Hola senorita, como esta usted?” the smiling officer said. My mind rushed and I uttered, “No hablo espanol, solo frances.” I told him I didn’t speak Spanish, I spoke French. He then began to proceed to try and flirt with me while the other officers laughed and pointed.

I knew he could easily have asked to see my passport and if I had not produced it, then they could have thrown me into jail and I would have been lost. Lost in another country. And believe me, women have no rights in their jail. This is a taste of what immigrants will feel in Arizona and are already feeling on some level.

The speakers finished up and no one stepped forward to speak so we returned to the streets. Lights changed and we walked and chanted. Different colors of clothes and different nationalities, all wearing signs taped to our clothes that said, “Do I look Illegal? No To SB1070.” Arms and fists in the air, the voices grew louder and louder and I began to find my voice.

As my voice grew my spirit began to understand the energy of the voices surrounding me. Their shoes skidding across the pavement and their hearts in unison. We were a group, a sole beginning of hope. African American, Caucasian, Asian, Hispanic, Indian we marched side by side and felt for that time as though we were united as one family.

The protest ended back at the Pit where one last speakers stood in front of us. She received her degree from a community college, but is unable to use it. She has volunteered for the crisis unit in town from over two years, yet her driver’s license has now expired and she can no longer participate. Tears on her face she told us how much she wants to be a part of our country and be considered one of “us.”

I have always said they work harder than I ever will and they appreciate my country more than I ever have-why can they not be a part of this country? Our nation stands on the edge of ruin and yet we do not educate the intelligent minds of these people and their children. Our nation could be amazing.

America needs to wake up before this law takes effect and before other states begin implementing similar legislation. Our rights as Americans are diminishing along with these immigrants and the people who do not see that are fools.The extent of this law is much greater than I have outlined and is even reaching into Arizona’s schools where teachers with accents will no longer be able to teach.

I have one exam left and my semester is completely over. Classes have ended, campus seems empty and I know that I will not see many of the seniors I met this year again for a long time-if ever.

It is always encouraging to know that I have completed another semester at school, but this one is especially important to me. I cannot help but be nostalgic, because it has been epic in so many ways. The person that started this semester is gone and a replacement has arrived. The writer that began writing in the beginning disappeared and a new writer has emerged.

I began this semester with a heavy heart because I was very unhappy. Many aspects of my personal life were unfulfilled and I was lacking my “Ahna Spark” that I have always been known for. The big smiles and loud laughter had been taken over by this stressed out ball of anxiety-and I didn’t know what to do to change that.

I decided to return to counseling because if there is anything I love it is being able to discuss the thoughts and emotions that flash through my mind, with someone who has the ability to stay objective. I was very blessed and found a wonderful man who has listened and asked me about me. I strongly believe that everyone should experience the healing of therapy-we all have our issues and working through them makes for a more solid foundation. It has been instrumental in reminding me that I am okay, I am intelligent and that I am a good person.

But my reporting class deserves most of the credit for shaping me into who I am blossoming in to. When the semester began it terrified me on so many levels because I was going to have to be 100% responsible for all the work that I put in to it. I knew I was going to have to leave my safety zone. I had to build a “beat” or area of concentration in the community, I had to get to know the people involved, and I had to find my confidence so that I could approach them and ask for their story.

It is never an easy thing to be vulnerable, but this semester has shown me the riches in allowing myself to be just that. Week after week I hunted the story and with it I hunted the people. I have dealt with many of the ethical issues that we discussed in my ethics class while reporting, and there were a few times I had to approach someone for advice on how to handle those situations.

I did my best to remain objective in my story-telling and respect the people that gave me their time whether I agreed or disagreed with them. I learned how to conduct myself and became good at remembering to smile.

For me, my ADHD has always been my greatest enemy and my greatest friend. My mind is sharp and I see and feel things that most people overlook, yet I wrestle with self-esteem and confidence everyday. I have severe sleeping issues, after an hour or more of lecture I am so exhausted I can barely stay awake because I have been trying to focus. It is not easy-but this semester has shown me and has given me the confidence to continue on and know that I am getting better. If nothing else, because I will never give up.

I found a larger piece of myself this semester. I am seeing more and more the type of person I want to be and the places I want to take myself. My path is becoming clearer and I feel more confident about who I am right now-full of faults, but making strides. I cannot describe the changes that have taken place in the last five months, but I am thankful.

In life we often believe that we need lots of time to make changes, like the plants I have yet to replant. They have been patiently awaiting my hands and fresh soil yet I have put it off fearing the time it could consume. But the reality is that it would only take an hour or two. The change that occurs inside of us mentally or physically is often daunting because we wonder if we have time-but then we neglect the very essence of change.

It happens when we are open to it, when we are broken and in need. It occurs when we push ourselves to do things that make us uncomfortable and are outside of our comfort limits. There were so many days that I was scared to call someone for a story or too tired to walk into someone’s office-but I always made myself. And every time I did I felt that darkness slip further away.

The last part of my life was one spent living in fear of change. I wanted to hold on to comfort and hold on to the fake security that I had covered myself with. I was not willing to be vulnerable or open. I did not want to love or feel. No wonder I was so miserable! But somewhere along the way I woke up and began breathing, and then began walking.

Today I run. I am running into the things I want to do and accomplish. I am running into the person I want to be. I am running back into the arms of God. I am running into the boldness that I have always hidden. I am running into my future.

I have always said that life is short, and I always believed it, but lately I can taste it and that is real.